Homeward Bound (Journeyman Book 1)

by Golden Czermak

  “I've never asked you what your ink actually meant, have I?” she asked.

  “No, but you've certainly burned a hole in me staring so many times.”

  She bumped his arm. “Whatever, you ass. Like you've never stared at me before.”

  “Only that hat you wear all the time, cougar queen.”

  Her eyes had to be the strongest part of her body, always getting a workout around him. From the rolling of course, not the gawking. At least that is what she had convinced herself of. “So, going back to this tattoo of yours.”

  “The roses,” he said softly. “They were Momma’s favorite flowers. Back during the days I traveled alone, I would close my eyes thinking on the past and I swear I could smell their sweet scent - as if I were standing right there on the front porch of the house we lived in. Silly as it sounds, those nights felt a little less cold because of that. I got this tattoo after a while, as a reminder that Mom is always with me and that I would never have to close my eyes again.”

  Something was certainly awakening between the two of them. Gage had never seemed vulnerable before, yet here he sat opening up. Adrienne didn’t know if that was for the better or worse. Regardless, she continued.

  “That’s amazing, Gage. My mom nearly killed me when she found out I had a tattoo, even after explaining it had something to do with her.”

  Gage quickly perked up. She had ink? How was this so? If he hadn't noticed before, that meant it was hidden, very well hidden.

  “I had no idea ya had tattoos, Ady,” he said, not so casually searching her visible skin.

  She raised a finger. “Tattoo. Just one.”

  “You'll have to show me sometime you rebel, since I showed you mine,” he said, leaving his mouth open with a hint of those perpetually white teeth. “Oh and don’t get Momma wrong. The sentiment is great but if she saw me today, all inked up like a thug, I probably wouldn’t be her favorite son anymore.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Nope, only child. I'm her favorite and only,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  A little laugh escaped her smile.

  “I’m sure she would still care about you, Gage,” Adrienne said faintly as she found a prominent vein which rose above the detailed ink work. With a finger, she traced the ridge across the bloom on his imposing shoulder.

  That felt unexpectedly good. He labored to hold his eyes open, but his feelings were amplified with them closed. The artificial glow slipped away, wrapping him in a momentary blanket of nothing but her touch.

  The vein road-mapped into his bicep, which she rode without hesitation, detouring along the way to other floral sights across his arm. This was simply incredible, a nurse’s wet dream that was quickly becoming her own. She was soon back on the main highway, riding down into the dense cluster of petals on his forearm.

  They laughed again when she reached his wrist, lifting her finger before both fell into a pit of silent stares. Thoughts began to mount as their heartbeats started to climb.

  Should I try to kiss him? No. That wouldn’t be right. But if I did, maybe it would feel right…

  Why have I never noticed how gorgeous she is? That hair, my God… Those lips… Fuck my life.

  Adrienne, would this really work? He’s like a brother to you. But just look at him.

  Gage, do you really want to go through with this? You know the life that we live. Love leads to one thing. Pain.

  “What is taking him so long?” asked Gage, breaking the hushed exchange that threatened to spill over into action. There was always something he could be impatient about.

  She pointed ahead into the store. “That right there. I don't think he'll ever grow up.”

  They both watched Joey make beelines up and down the aisles from one delicious junk food delicacy to the next. During his mad dash, he rounded a corner too quickly and knocked over an end cap display, sending assorted flavors of chips flying across the floor.

  That sent the portly shop keep trundling over, flamboyantly waving his arms in a fit while Joey haphazardly threw a few items back on the display.

  Gage chuckled. “That's what makes him special.”

  Joey filled up his bags then reached into his pocket, tossing some cash on the counter. “Keep the change!” he shouted, bounding out of the store and back into the vehicle.

  “Good God!” said Adrienne. “Got yourself a bit of a boost?”

  “What?” asked Joey, tossing her a bag of beef jerky. He had already demolished a pack of chips, starting in on some cookies. An empty energy drink can made its way into in the plastic bag tied around his wrist. Thankfully for him, a tinny clang indicated there were more full ones inside.

  “I swear that guy’s wife is a beard,” said Joey, a cookie hanging from his mouth as he rifled through the bag for something to wash it down with.

  Adrienne nearly choked, since she agreed.

  “You fuckers set?” Gage cut in; bed was calling his name. “Let's roll, and gimme a damn cookie for waiting on your ass.”

  Adrienne nabbed a chocolate chip one for him and took a fleeting look down at her cell phone as they set off. The indicator showed that it had already increased fifteen percent. Something was certainly wrong with Gage’s phone, which had since died.

  THE PORTLY EUGENE MONTGOMERY was counting the money left on the store counter, snorting under his breath when the front doors dinged.

  Better not be that little prick again, he thought, having only just cleaned up about half of the mess left by the whirlwind that was Joey Mosley. Sexy as he is, that boy is a menace.

  That’s when a pungent odor stabbed at his piggish nostrils.

  “First you trash my store, boy, and now you try to smoke in here? Take those damn matches and your cigarettes outside,” he snapped, looking up with a snarl.

  It wasn't Joey.

  There, instead of the young man, two uniformed police officers stood in front of him, imposing like statues.

  “Oh! My apologies officers,” he said with a tinge of surprise and a frown. The coins in his hand fell through his stubby fingers, dancing noisily on the glass. “I didn’t mean… Crap… I thought you were someone else.”

  They said nothing as the shorter officer removed his cap, placing it over the clattery change. His buzzed hair, stocky build and gruff expression weren't putting Eugene at ease one bit. If the guy hadn't been wearing a police uniform, he could just as easily have been there to rob the store.

  Eugene peered over to the other man. He stood at least six inches taller and was far ganglier. His expressionless face and cold focus added to the unease that pervaded the room.

  “So, can I help you two fine gentle…” his voice trailed off as the doors chimed yet again. Eugene shuffled over and craned his neck to see who was coming in. Sweat had begun beading on his brow and he took a large, salty gulp when he saw who had stepped inside.

  A middle aged man with sharp features had waltzed in, his scuffed boots crunching over the array of candy bars and chip bags still strewn on the floor. Dressed in torn skinny jeans, his white wife beater had yellowed from months of accumulated stains. On one wrist he wore a luxury watch, dulled by fictitious gold and on the other a pair of handcuffs dangled loose and free. As he sauntered closer, his steely eyes gazed down a beak-like nose, never leaving the rotund man behind the counter.

  Eugene wrenched his eyes away, noticing a large red smear on the man’s chest as he settled in between the two policemen. A smell like natural gas followed.

  “Good… evening…” Eugene stammered. “Can I help any of you?”

  The prisoner spoke. “Are you the purveyor of this fine establishment?” he asked in a raspy voice. As he gestured with his arms, the handcuffs reflected the overhead lamps, sending their light dancing uncomfortably across Eugene’s face.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Then indeed it is your lucky day,” he said coldly. The prisoner continued, pointing a finger toward Eugene. Something told the shop keep that this wasn’t the kind
of luck one wished for. “I have a couple of questions that need answering and you… well, you are the man for the job.”

  He waved his pointing hand and the policemen fell back a few steps.

  Shorty broke away and walked toward the door. After a quick look around, he found the switch for the “OPEN” sign and flipped it. The letters faded as he returned to the other officer’s side.

  Eugene felt a rumble in the pit of his stomach and his heart began to pound in his chest. He couldn't focus on any one thing, desperately needing some comfort in this extremely uncomfortable situation. Maybe if he could move his hands beneath the counter and press the silent alarm or maybe if he could snag his shotgun to pepper these assholes, he would feel better and safer. All was for naught when the effort was stopped before it even began.

  “Ah ah ah,” said the prisoner as both cops reached for their weapons. “I know what you're thinking. We’ve no time for company just yet. You and I still have to chat.”

  The sweat stung as Eugene tried to watch the detainee through squinted eyes, still catching brief flashes of light from off the cuffs.

  The man leaned forward. “So my good man, have you had any visitors tonight?” Good lord his breath was terrible, as if strips of meat were trapped between his teeth since the days his shirt was pure white.

  “No,” said Eugene amidst a cough that brought up a little bit of sick with it.

  The prisoner’s look screamed liar.

  “No… one of any importance,” Eugene corrected, coughing once more.

  “Hmmm,” pondered the convict. “Is that so? I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Just my luck, Eugene thought. What kind of gangland crap has that son of a bitch brought on me?

  “So this ‘nobody important.’ Who was he?” The man picked up a quarter and started to tap the glass with it.

  “Some kid” he told him, “maybe in his early twenties. I didn’t catch a name.”

  “A shame,” he replied, pausing to look at the coin in detail. He placed it back on the countertop before picking up another, shiner one. “Paid by cash did he? Well, it's a good thing he wasn’t all that important.”

  Eugene fell silent, as if he stopped breathing.

  “So, was he with anyone else?” the man pressed, continuing to knock the countertop with his fresh coin.

  “Nobody in the store,” Eugene replied. The tapping grew faster and he wiped his forehead with a sleeve; was the heating unit on? The air was notably hotter and patchy sweat stains had formed under his arms and across his lower back.

  “There was someone out in the vehicle, well two actually: a man and a woman. I couldn’t see either of them very well.” The non-stop tapping was getting to him, now beating against the inside of his skull. “Stop it!” he exclaimed before dialing his voice way down, “please?”

  The prisoner flicked the change toward Eugene, striking him on the chin. “So there were three total,” he said, looking over his shoulder. With a head jerk the cops promptly stepped up to each side. “The vehicle they were in, was it a truck?”

  “Yes,” he answered curtly. Maybe a shift in tone would get these men to leave. “Are we close to being done; I was quite busy beforehand…”

  Ignoring him, the questioning continued. “So do you know where were they going? Where they live?”

  “What the? How am I supposed to know that? I have no goddamn idea!”

  Who are you guys? What do you want? Just get out!

  The con frowned. “Listen -”

  “Look! You listen!” Eugene shouted. “I told you! I! Don’t! Fucking! Know!”

  “No you listen here you bloated meat sack, things are about to get really messy for you.”

  “Go to hell!” he snapped, sending a glob of spit onto the man’s face.

  Wiping the phlegm that caressed his cheek, the prisoner blinked. His gray eyes were suddenly black with a flowing ring of deep crimson.

  “Been there already and hated it, as you’re about to find out.” He swung his arm, the handcuffs crashing into the countertop and shattering the glass.

  The officers rushed in and grabbed Eugene, holding him firm as he attempted to get free. They were so much stronger than he was. Unnaturally so. They yanked him hard across the demolished counter, scraping his body over the hundreds of razor edges inside and like a limp doll they hurled him onto the floor before going to scoop him back up.

  The prisoner surveyed the splintered glass like he was shopping for jewelry, looking for the largest and most beautiful one he could find. There it was. Reaching in, he removed a long, knife-like shard and turned to face Eugene, who was still struggling with his little bit of might.

  “Please…” he quivered, shaking uncontrollably on his cracked legs as fear overtook him. “I’ll do anything. Just let me -”

  His eyes met those empty, red rimmed pupils as a thin line of prickly heat glided over his neck. Warmth flowed from of the gash and over his chest, oozing down his body like a broken egg. He had no choice but to continue looking at the unforsaken gaze drilling into him, gasping for breath before his round body toppled.

  The man removed his boots as Eugene expired, a faint whisper of breath skating across the shiny pool. He stepped into the brackish liquid, still pleasantly warm, and used one of his bare feet to shove the body out of the way.

  “Spiritum meum, victor erit,” he uttered in an abyssal tone that shook the walls. “In malign positus, loquar!”

  The store lights flickered and showered the room with sparks as the blood snaked under his clothes all the way up his body. Rushing from his collar, the tendrils wormed their way around his lips as he continued to speak in a long lost, guttural language.

  “Onoskelis, it is I,” he said demonically.

  A few minutes later a voice boomed, coming from all directions. It was fathomless, forceful, and feminine. “What news do you bring, Stolas?”

  “Tonight we have confirmed that the Hardy coven was, at last, decimated.”

  “Excellent work,” she said. “You and your company will be rewarded. That little bitch learned what a mistake it was to turn against us, as will they all in time. Now, we must focus our attention to the north and the wendigos -”

  “Your grace,” he interrupted. “The coven was decimated, but not by us.”

  It grew eerily quiet.

  The buzz of the freezers took over, echoing in Stolas’ ears as he remained outwardly calm. However, the shadow inside strove to maintain composure. His host’s skin became itchy and it was impossible to remedy.

  “Onoskelis?” he said nervously. The long pause remained for nearly a minute more. Cautiously, he carried on with the report. “Based on the use of Solomon weaponry, scientifics, and other trace evidence at the scene, we believe the attack was carried out by a small team of Journeymen. Specifically -”

  “Gage… Crosse,” her voice resonated, toppling boxes from the shelves. Gage had managed to find a way to be at the epicenter of nearly every major supernatural event over the last couple of years. He was certainly a man on a mission after the death of his parents and that made him extremely dangerous, especially to demonkind. She could respect that, but also knew that if he was involved then there was a definite threat to their immediate plans.

  “Yes,” Stolas confessed meekly. “We have reason to believe he is based somewhere in the Houston area with this team of his. We are working to find out where that is but it is heavily warded, as is his transportation.”

  “Is there reason to suspect he knows anything of our plans?”

  “Well, not in detail. There were also no prisoners taken but, there is no way for us to know what Hardy told him before her demise.”

  “Hmmm,” she replied. “We cannot afford to have that behemoth poking around. You are to keep your distance and remain where we are at our strongest: in the shadows. Our plans are making considerable headway and any suspicion about or attention on us shall be kept to an absolute minimum. Is that clear?”

  “It
is, your Grace.”

  “That brings me to the manner of your contact with me, Stolas.”

  He swallowed hard, noticing the shorter cop had stepped forward a few paces, fitting gloves over his hands.

  “How did you come about finding enough blood to use this spell?”

  “The… shopkeeper,” he disclosed.

  “The shopkeeper,” she repeated. “Who happens to own the store that infamous demon slaying menace had just… fucking… visited?”

  A hand latched onto his arm, spinning him around. Shorty had him, brandishing a small iron blade resembling a railroad spike. Demonic seals were engraved down its entire length.

  A few feet away, the spindly cop murmured with his head bowed and Stolas realized what was happening too late. He attempted to step out of the pool of now stale blood, but his feet were frozen, the liquid around them crystallizing into icy clamps. He was trapped like a rat in a cage.

  A coughing fit followed as the taller cop’s whispers picked up pace. Umbral mist laced with red belched from Stolas’ mouth with each uncontrollable hack.

  I need to get out of this sack of skin! he thought while closing his eyes as he tried to eject from the host. There was no guarantee that there was anyone nearby to repossess in time, but that was a risk he was willing to take and it was certainly better than the permanent fate he knew was coming.

  The shadowy form of a night raven spawned briefly, ready to take flight, but suddenly glitched back into the body that now anchored him.

  “You have made some mistakes in the past, my not-so-wise feathered friend,” Onoskelis chastised. “Perhaps those herbs you’ve been so fond of have clouded your judgment. But knowing that particular Journeyman is so close to us and our plans, we must be far… far more careful. We can afford no more mistakes like this and we cannot afford your grand levels of stupidity any longer. Vale, Stolas!”

  The store rumbled once more and she was gone.

  Before he could get another word out, the iron spike made its way into his chest. Shorty smirked as he turned the blade and Stolas convulsed; sooty vapor wafted out of every pore yet was heavy and sank to the floor. Holding onto the weapon, Shorty pushed Stolas backwards.